


In all things give thanks

by Melie



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melie/pseuds/Melie
Summary: Marcus took what he could get, with no time for shame, no time for guilt. Scraps: a glance, a touch, less than a second of a moment. Knowing that he could never aspire to more.Hopelessness isn't the same as despair.





	In all things give thanks

He'd always had a weakness for the pretty ones.

In truth, everybody did. And Marcus also favoured the unpretty, the cast-outs, all those that did not fall between the lines. He revelled in watching people that others would not even look at, in watching them succeed, in seeing their hour of glory. He always championed them, without question.

But he did like the pretty ones. And Tomas was definitely pretty, amongst many other things.

So Marcus had started flirting right from their second meeting, perhaps even before that. _I need to know you_ wasn't a lie, he just meant it in various ways. And already he knew it would lead to nothing, but that had never stopped him before – it wasn't the result that mattered, because the result wouldn't change, it was the little pleasures along the way.

A sentence here and there ( _I need you_ ), a glance. _Can you help me with this_ ; a touch. Moments that lasted less than a second.

The best thing was: he had no shame.

Seeing God when you were twelve could give you a different outlook on life. The Church was one thing, his faith another. He followed the former as far as he could, but the latter trumped it all. Loving, loving men even, was not something he would ever feel ashamed of. No: no shame, no guilt. Just acceptance (even if he never did anything about it).

He didn't have time for guilt anyways.

So Marcus saw Tomas and he smiled.

Tomas, torn between ambitions he wouldn't admit to, and a love he couldn't let go of. If only because of both these pulls, Marcus knew he could never have him.

And yet. Hopelessness isn't the same thing as despair.

He still got the sentences, the glances, the touches. _What if I asked you to stay_. He got the nights at the bar, staring at each other's eyes while talking and drinking. He got the jokes – he got them more and more often these days. He got the smiles.

He even got to push his luck, sometimes. Put his hand on Tomas' shoulder and leave it a few seconds too long. Slide down his arm. Grab his face and pull it close to remind him of something, of _himself_ more often than not, although it sometimes meant that _Marcus_ almost got lost, even just for a second (but not longer, he knew better). _Help me with this_ : putting on Tomas' collar was a routine, a ritual, and Marcus never actually held his breath while doing it (he knew better) but it was still something.

It didn't hurt. Marcus didn't let it hurt. He'd had years of experience in this, in watching things (people) he couldn't have in between two trips he wasn't sure he'd come back from.

So it didn't hurt. Even as he fell deeper and deeper, it didn't hurt. Even as he realised that it had never been like this, that the longing had never been so strong, it didn't hurt. Because Marcus knew where he stood, and accepted it. He took what he could get and was content with it.

Until one day.

Training meant going after small fry at first, have Tomas rid the city of some of his demonic infestation, coach him through it (hand on his shoulder), then take a step back and let him work (eyes on that pretty face of his), pat his back when he was done.

And it was fine, and it didn't hurt, until that day when Tomas brought a young homeless boy to the hospital right after his exorcism, and came back, and Marcus smiled and promised to buy the first round, and Tomas smiled back and looked him in the eye.

And there was something.

Something small, that shouldn't have been there. Not for Marcus. And maybe he'd dreamt it. Maybe he'd dreamt it because he wanted it so bad – and he couldn't afford to do that, he knew better.

But now there was a pang in his heart.

So Marcus bought the first round, and for a while, there was no glancing, no touching, no saying things that could mean other things, just a careful distance. Until he was able to safely assert that he'd imagined the whole thing up, at least. Because he did know better.

Yes, Marcus knew that he couldn't really go after the things (people) he wanted. So he would take the scraps, and be content with that. Smile and keep going, _big as a mountain_ just from standing in the same room as Tomas. It was all he would ever need.

Yes. All he would ever need.

Even though, for the first time, asleep on Tomas' couch, vividly aware of Tomas' presence only a room away, Marcus started to suspect that maybe it would hurt a little, after all.

 


End file.
